


Kinktober 2020

by BoyMother



Category: Original Work
Genre: Giant spider - Freeform, Kinktober 2020, M/M, Mini-stories, Monster-fucking, Monsters, Soft Boys, Suspension, Teratophilia, Whumptober, Whumptober 2020, femboys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:02:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26766232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoyMother/pseuds/BoyMother
Summary: Here are my Kinktober/Whumptober mini-stories for 2020! They are all themed around monsters! I hope you enjoy!Proceed with caution, of course!
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	1. Let's Hang Out Sometime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Waking Up Restrained"

October 1st:  
“Let's Hang Out Sometime” 

The trek through the Evergrowth was long and arduous. It was the kind of terrain a seasoned explorer would think twice about crossing, and Simon was no seasoned explorer. In fact, he had rarely ever left his village at the north edge of the forest. He was a homebody at heart. The outdoors made him nervous, and for good reason, terrible beasts and barbaric monster races made these deep woods their home. He used to have terrible nightmares about the monster stories other children told him when he was young. So it was quite strange that he would now find himself deep in the crevices of the great green basin. Drafted into the mad king’s army, forced to march towards the empire capital, abandoned by his battalion after proving too weak and cowardly to be a soldier. The last month had turned his life upside down, and it seemed this might be his final chapter.  
Without the bigger, stronger, more learned soldiers to protect him he would surely perish out here. No one was around to give him even the most basic survival advice, like for instance, that one should not sleep in a clearing, in plain sight to all manner of things that pass by. But Simon found the grass more comfortable than the brush. So that is where the naive boy slept, but not where he awoke. 

It was very dark. He could only see a faint outline of the tree trunks around him. As soon as he realized he was no longer in the clearing, his muscles surged with adrenaline, fear electrifying his body into action, only to be suddenly restrained by the ropes covering him. They were so well placed on his body, so soft and light against his skin, that he did not even notice them until he tried to move against them. They kept his legs tucked behind him, his feet pressed against his rear. His arms pressed together against his chest, as if he were praying for salvation. He was so masterfully strung up, that only a beat later did he realize that he was suspended. The ground was nowhere to be seen. He could not tell if he were ten feet up or a hundred in the dark.  
Needless to say, he panicked. His muscles strained themselves to exhaustion trying to break free, but even the strongest soldiers would fall to break these restraints. A scrawny country boy had no hope. His panic only grew with each failed attempt, quickly engulfing him, until he shook his whole body, squirming like a eel out of water, crying out in the uncaring evergrowth.  
“Please!” He cried, when his body had no more strength to struggle, “Please! Let me go!” 

He assumed he was wrapped in ropes, but only when he felt the pluck of the strings coming from above, the vibration of a whole network to which he was attached, the weight of something much bigger than him moving on that net, only then did he realize they were not robes...but silk.  
It crawled down from above. It moved with complete, only given away by the pluck of its legs on the silk cords. Simon clenched his eyes shut with all his own might, as if willing himself away from this grim end. And somehow it seemed to work. Ah his shivered and whimpered and waited for something to make first contact, the plucking stopped. All was still and silent. Simon could not help it, it was only a human reaction. He opened his eyes and turned his head upward.  
It stared back at him with eyes the size of his own face. Big black orbs as deep as the night skin. Two large ones and several others scattered around. They reflected even the tiniest bit of light like mirrors in the dark. Huge fangs curved down from the eyes, it’s legs (2 of them anyways) reached forward, encircling Simon. It held perfectly still, only staring. He had been caught in the web of an enormous spider. One of the Giant Ogre-Faced Spiders of the deep Evergrowth.  
Simon screamed, his body thrashed uselessly, but the spider only stared into his soul. Every cell of his skin pulsed with the most intense revulsion. He wanted to get away! Away! AWAY! But he could not move even an inch from the thing.  
This fearful thrashing lasted quite a while, but Simon did not free himself, nor did the spider even twitch. When it became clear that running away was not an option, Simon turned his head up and with a strange mixture of fear and anger screamed at the beast.  
“JUST DO IT THEN! JUST END THIS! ST-STOP STARING! STOP IT! STOP IT STOP!”  
Then all at once, he fell limp, awaiting his fate.  
“Have you exhausted yourself completely?” The spider spoke in a calm and uncanny voice, “I cannot have you thrashing like that when the eggs are inside."


	2. In the Hands of the Enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the Hands of the Enemy

October 2nd:  
"Choose Who Dies" 

“Deacon, you must choose. The longer you wait, the more you prolong their agony.” The advising priestess hissed into his ear. Every villager who had come to the sacrificial ceremony was gathered before him, nearly everyone in the tribe except the very young and very old. All of them anxiously awaited his decision. Yet despite the pressure, he could not bear to choose. He stood frozen in his gilded robes, unable to speak.  
The vizier priestess hissed again, “Choose, Deacon! One must die. This is all a lot easier if it goes quickly.” He had always disliked her. From the moment he was divinely chosen and thrust into the position of chief priestess, he felt repulsed by something about her. Only now did it crystalize just how disregarding of life she was. How could she expect him to choose? How could anyone!?  
Their village was one that lived off the few strips of fertile land surrounding Mount Suedomsa, an active volcano inhabited by a powerful demon, or so the legends said. He wasn’t entirely sure if he even believed the legends, but by an ironic twist of fate it was his job to enforce their mandates as the newly chosen chief priestess. Mount Suedomsa had not erupted in centuries, which did seem miraculous now that Deacon stood at the brink of its angry fuming mouth. This fortune was supposedly secured by the village through regular sacrifice. Every year, the village would gather to sacrifice one individual into the gaping maw of the fiery mountain. With that, the demon would be satisfied and the village would live another year without obliteration. He had always refused to partake in previous sacrifices, but now that he was head priestess, he could not avoid the horrific spectacle. Tradition was that the seven families of the village would all present a tribute, from which the chief priestess would select the sacrifice. The tributes were generally the elderly or the sick, those already on death’s door. Supposedly the demon did not care if it were young or old, only that it was alive and full of blood.  
So now he stood at the volcanic altar, him, having just entered into adulthood, to choose which old man standing before him was to die. He had dreaded this moment ever since he was told the Goddess had selected him for chief priestess. He had hoped that in the moment he would gain the guts to carry out his sacred duties. But as he looked upon the sad and weary face of the old men and their relatives, most of which he knew as friends and neighbors, he froze up. He knew he could not go through with it.  
“Need I remind you,” the vizier spat with her usual venom, “someone must die, or we will all be destroyed!”  
“I’m thinking.”  
“You have been thinking for nearly half an hour now, the people are beginning to grow concerned.”  
“Just a little bit more!”  
“No you have had enough time! I knew you were not fit for this. Choose now or I will choose for you, divinity be damned!  
In truth, he had decided as soon as he saw the tributes that he could not choose among them. It was a different choice that occupied his mind.  
“No! I-...I have decided.”  
“Good. Took you long enough.” 

Deacon’s hands shook as he stepped forward, he could hear his own heartbeat ring in his ears. He thought he might faint any second. All the more reason to get this over with. He stepped forward and the crowd bristled with anxious dread. But his eyes were not fixed on the tributes. They were fixed on the open chasm and the fiery hell below.  
Before anyone had a chance to realize what he was about to do, he bolted off the altar running full force through the crowd. Many people gasped, a few hands tried and failed to catch him. His vizier cursed something. But in a single moment, he was over the edge and in the air, falling. Falling far far away from them all. He had merely a moment to cope with his fast approaching death, and in that moment he tried to savor the righteousness of what he had done. He wanted to die satisfied, with no regrets. And for a moment before he hit the magma, it was peaceful.

When he awoke, he was in a cavern, surrounded by rivers of lava. His ceremonial clothes were all burned to shreds, and his jeweled headpiece lay cracking in front of his face.  
“Oh Goddess, where-”  
“Hmm, you’re a lot prettier than the others they’ve sent.” A voice interrupted him. It was a woman’s voice, deep and crackling like a bonfire.  
He scrambled to his feet, his charred robes barely covering any of his body at all.  
“Oh, what a shame. I thought you were a woman. I rarely get those. Oh well, you will taste the same either way.” The speaker sat before him on a stalagmite throne, an inhumanly tall woman with fire for eyes, curled black rams horns, and skin the same shifting black and red and orange as the surrounding magma. The demon of the volcano. She was real.  
He should have been terrified in that moment, but instead, he was struck with an idea that could have only come from the Goddess herself.  
“No, I am... I’m afraid I am not... a woman.” He said, taking a few small steps towards the demon, gaining confidence as he did. This was perhaps a chance to save not just the tributes of this year, but of every year.  
“But I assure you… I can’t fulfill the same need. I can… satiate you all the same.” She could strike him down at any second she wanted but he did not falter, he only steeled himself and focused his resolve towards his gamble. When he reached the foot of her throne, he began to climb into her lap, and she did not stop him. Her face was curious, her smirk playful.  
He grasped her face, and for a moment he thought he’d gone too far. But his touch was gentle and weak, so she allowed it. He sank to his knees, pressing his bare chest against her and trying to maintain contact with her burning eyes.  
“Please, you do not need any more sacrifices. Let me satisfy you for years to come.”


End file.
